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The winter’s ice clings to cliff, to beach an empty shell
The cold wind moans on the bones of summer and takes a slap at the bell
And all the boats are upside down or else pulled in to shore
Parson G, Clarissa Lee that used up shore rigged whore.
And old Lindy Lou with her sides stove through her riggings rotten and tore
There’s many a night when the wind’s been right and the weather’s been getting poor
That I tried to sleep but I can’t sleep for the banging of the wheelhouse door.
I lie in bed like a kid you know and figure she’ll go away
But no such luck goddam her bones, so it’s down to the kitchen for me.
Find the old pipe and get lit up, take the tea down from the shelf
Ida’s been dead since ’61 so I’ve gotta do for myself
No sooner the smoke’s curling over my book, the tea’s ready to pour
Then sure as I stand I can hear Pete McCann and the banging of the wheelhouse door.
Pete and me we were heading back with half a catch below
Tryin to raise the south headlight and Jesus did it blow.
By the time we heard the breakers roar we were too close in to shore
With a prayer and a curse I felt her lurch as the rocks dug in and tore
And old Lindy Lou fell a cryin’ and a dyin’ with the ocean pouring through
I got knocked off my feet, I couldn’t find Pete and I don’t recall much more.
‘Cept the last thing I heard, the sound of a word and the banging of the wheelhouse door.
I came to four days later in a hospital in St John
In a body cast, ‘cos I hurt my back and I found out Pete was gone.
They never found his body, though they searched ten miles of shore
I’m getting on, my back is gone and I really can’t fish no more.
And old Lindy Lou with her sides stove through was towed and left on shore
There’s many a night when the wind’s been right and the weather’s been getting poor
That I tried to sleep but I just couldn’t sleep for the banging of the wheel house door.